Seven Deadly Sherlocks
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: "He was perfectly fine. Wasn't he? Sure, he had his eccentricities, and odd little habits, but was that such a sin?" Just a fun little story idea that's been in the works over the past couple of weeks. Eventual Sherlolly. Rating for future chapter(s).
1. Prologue

So, this is the child of two plot bunnies: One involving a bit of a discussion about "mortal sins" vs others, and two, feeling a bit more like Sherlock than I usually do, in the sense that I was bored, but didn't want to do anything...at all. This little guy popped into my head, and I have had so much fun writing it. I hope you like it too.

**I do not own anything already deemed owned or created by Mark Gatiss, Sue Vertue, Steven Moffat, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, or anyone involved in the show.**

**Enjoy!**

**Prologue:**

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He was merely hanging a new poster up on the wall. He'd found an artistic map of the apparent seven mortal sins of man, all charted out in a spiraled diagram. Sherlock had stepped up on the chair, and placed the nail where he'd wanted it. However, upon reaching down to pick up the framed art, the detective fell backward, landing square on the floor. Well, not entirely square. Due to the sheer height of the man, the corner of his nightstand seemed the ideal destination for the side of his head. He groaned out in pain. After picking himself up off the floor, Sherlock felt a straining dizziness that left him a bit more than fatigued. So, he left the poster forgotten for the time, in favor of a suddenly much needed nap. When he awoke, he felt perfectly fine. Well, slightly more tired than usual, and a bit bored. But he was perfectly fine. Wasn't he? Sure, he had his eccentricities, and odd little habits, but was that such a sin?

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So, there's the intro. Onto the next chapter! What say you? No seriously, what do you think? Good, Bad, Ugly? Let me know. Thanks lovelies!


	2. Sloth

Righto, well...Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! I'm glad you're all excited about this story. I hope you will stick around to read more.

**Once again, just a note to say, I don't own boo.**

Right, this chapter:

**Sloth**

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Sloth: n. /slôTH/ 1. Reluctance to work or make an effort; laziness.

OoOo

John had not seen or heard from his flatmate since they had returned home just five hours before. Slightly worried, he made his way down the stairs from his bedroom, and down the hall to Sherlock's door. It was open, and John walked through to find the odd genius face down on his bed.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" He asked. The only response was a low grunt of indifference, muffled by the soft pillows under his head.

"Okay, well I'm just going to pop out for a bit." he said, hoping this might evoke some reply or witty retort from his friend. Nothing. So, the doctor tried once more.

"Um, right. Do you need anything while I'm out? Milk, tea? Another bag of toes?" he uttered sarcastically. Again, no reply was made by the detective. John rolled his eyes, before mumbling a goodbye and leaving. It had taken Sherlock a solid fifteen minutes to decide to actually turn over. His hair flopped to one side, and cover one of his barely open eyes. He looked over at the poster, still waiting to take its place on his wall. With a sigh, the indignant man decided that, while he was hopelessly bored, he didn't much want to do something as tedious as hanging a picture. Another fifteen minutes, and Sherlock had successfully motivated himself to move from his bedroom...to the sofa.

OoOo

That's where John found him three hours later. Thinking nothing of the behavior, he set about putting away the groceries. He returned to the living room, and looked over to his friend.

"Sherlock, are you sure you're alright? You sure you're not sick or something?" John asked.

"Bored." Came the reply. His voice was stoic, but hardly insistent.

"Well, Lestrade did phone me. He's got a case for us." he answered with a shrug.

"No."

"I'm sorry? 'No'? You just said you were bored. Why would you -" John was cut off by Sherlock, who had taken off into a rant.

"Yes, but that hardly means I want to take a probably-pointless case to remedy my boredom. Plus, it would mean giving up the perfectly comfortable position I've made for myself on the sofa." Sherlock sighed as he ended his case, leaving a gaping John to glare at him. A moment of pause, and he finally moved into action.

"Okay, this is ridiculous. Get up." John hauled his friend to a standing position, and forced him out of his dressing gown.

"Go change. We're needed at Bart's." He lightly shoved the grumbling man down the hall toward his room.

"Ugh, fine." Sherlock groaned, before trudging down the hall and slamming the door shut. John sighed in frustration, before getting the rest of their things ready. Ten minutes later, Sherlock emerged from his room. John had expected the usual suit and tailor cut shirt to be in place. What he saw instead, was his childish flatmate, clad in a gray tee and jeans. His feet wore the usual dress shoes, and John thought it was only because Sherlock had, in fact, no other shoes to speak of. He rolled his eyes at the utter sight, before tossing the overgrown frat boy his coat.

OoOo

When they arrived, Sherlock immediately went, not for the morgue, but the lab. John had chased him down moments later, to find him sitting on a stool.

"Oh, come on! You've got to be joking." John huffed out. He stomped over and took Sherlock's arm at the bend of his elbow. When they finally made it to the morgue, Lestrade was already more than annoyed with the detective.

"Really, Sherlock? You can't take five minutes to at least act intrigued?" Greg sighed as he received a curt 'no'. They had taken five minutes to more or less force Sherlock into doing anything with the case. Five minutes later, he had stopped his whining deductions, solving the case. Lestrade left, after muttering a sardonic 'thanks'. John took a moment to breathe, telling his flatmate he was having a late lunch with Mary, since they were already at the hospital.

"Whatever." Came the adolescent response. After several second of debate, Sherlock made his way back to the lab. He sat, or rather, slouched comfortably on one of the metal stools. His head dropped back, leaving his curls in disarray. He could hear the distinct footfalls of an approaching pathologist, followed by the lab door swinging open and closed again.

"Oh, hello Sherlock." Molly said with a tone of surprise. Sherlock's only retort was a low hum of acknowledgment. Molly set down her stack of books, and walked to his side.

"Are you okay?" She asked quietly, her tone similar to that day years ago.

"Why?"

"Well, you're not doing anything. And you're in...street clothes. I didn't even think you owned street clothes." Molly answered, chuckling a bit at the end of her thought.

"I wasn't compelled to put on my regular attire. Too much stuff to be done." He sighed. He heard her soft 'oh', and finally looked over at her. Molly wore a soft, sympathetic smile on her face. As if to say, 'I understand'. He appreciated that about her. No unnecessary questions, no stupid remarks. Just sweetness. Several minutes had passed while Sherlock listened to Molly as she quietly worked. Finally, John walked into the room.

"There you are. I'm done now, if you're ready." He stated, before spotting the small woman across the way.

"Oh, hey Molly. Hope he wasn't too much of a git." John laughed out. Molly smiled a bit, and shook her head. The two watched as the consulting detective stood and walked out, without a word. Molly grabbed John's shoulder before he strayed too far away.

"Is he alright? He just sat here the entire time. I asked if he was okay, he just mentioned being bored." Molly's voice gave away her concern. John sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I have no clue, Molly. He does seem a bit off, yea? Well, maybe I can convince him to sleep, then." john said with a hopeful voice. He bid her farewell, before going after his slightly odd friend.

OoOo

When they returned to Baker Street, Sherlock immediately kicked his shoes off, and flung his coat on the rack. He then proceeded to dump his own body onto the sofa.

"Sherlock?" John began to ask, when he was silenced by a slightly aggressive detective.

"Sh, John. I want to take a nap." He snapped slightly, before violently rolling into the side of the couch cushions. John tossed his hands up in defeat, before storming up to his room.

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Well, there you have it. Can anyone guess what's coming next? Lol, I bet you can, but all the same, leave me a note or review and tell me what you think. Thank you loves! See you next time!


	3. Wrath

Alrighty folks, I'll skip the formalities and just get right to the thanking you all for your support. I am glad you are liking it so far, and I hope I continue to not disappoint.

**I don't own it. Just the story idea is mine. And technically, the plot bunnies own my brain, so it's really theirs. I really don't own diddly. Oh well...here comes more!**

**Wrath**

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Wrath: n. /raTH/ 1. Extreme anger.

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When Sherlock awoke, he felt a surge through his body. An urgent need to scream, or better yet, hit something. He jumped from the sofa, and instantly charged toward his bedroom. He took off his plain shirt, and tossed it violently away, once he got it over his head of curly hair. The transition back into his suit was just as frustrating. The buttons hadn't cooperated, and the zipper of his trousers had just narrowly missed clipping him in a very crucial area. Finally, when he was done dressing, he stormed out to the living room once more, just in time to meet John coming down the stairs.

"Oh, you seem to be better. Good. I was beginning to worry." John said with a hint of a smile. The grin immediately fell, as his flatmate glared at him.

"You let me lie around all day? There's work to be done, John. Important work, and the day is half gone now." Sherlock snapped. John went wide-eyed as he looked around the room, hoping for an answer. Before he could reply, the detective was already out the door and down the stairs of the flat. John was still in his position at the staircase to his room, utterly shocked in his place.

OoOo

A storm blew past the main desks of Scotland Yard, directly to the office door of Greg Lestrade. The Detective Inspector looked up from the paperwork on his desk, to see the clear scowl on Sherlock's face.

"Oh, hello. Are you all better?" Greg asked cheekily.

"There was nothing wrong with me to begin with. Now, shut up, I need a case." Sherlock barked out. Lestrade physically flinched at the harsh tone. He then sat up a bit, trying to regain his territory.

"Look Sherlock, I don't _have_ to give you any cases..." He began.

"No, but you do, because we both know I catch more clues than your lot manage to miss or forget." He snapped back again. Sherlock placed his palms flat on Lestrade's desk, and leaned over to glare at him.

"Sherlock, I don't have anything for you. I'm sorry." Lestrade sighed out, shrugging his shoulders apologetically. The consulting detective groaned out in anger, before leaving with a curt 'fine'. As he approached the exit, he came face to face with Anderson and Donovan. Sally had been the one to receive the shoulder shoved by her. The force wheeled her around.

"Oi, watch where you're going, freak." She called out. This caused the scorned genius to wheel around and briskly approach the two.

"And I suggest you cut off the affair with Scotland Yard's finest moron. The wife is catching on. I wouldn't be surprised if she catches you in the copy room tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a body to examine." With that, he left the two gaping lovers to watch after his quick gait.

OoOo

"Molly! Body! Now!" Sherlock shouted as he stormed into the morgue. The pathologist jumped at the booming voice, and looked up to see her favorite man wielding a thin riding crop in his hand.

"Oh, h-hi Sherlock. Do you need any specific type of body?" She asked in a bit of a quiet tone.

"No, just a dead one." He answered with a short beat. Molly chuckled nervously, before going to the closets that lined the wall. A few minutes later, she had one ready for him.

"Get out." Sherlock practically yelled, snapping his fingers. Molly looked at him with shocked doe eyes, slightly afraid. She then scurried off to her office. The loud cracking sound of leather to flesh echoed off the crisp white walls of the morgue. Sherlock felt some of the rage pour out of his body with each swing of his arm. Almost forty-five minutes later, a meek pathologist peeked her head in.

"I...I made coffee." She offered sweetly. No sooner did she get into the door, when the rude detective blew past her.

"I don't want coffee! Stop being so pointlessly helpful!" He brushed her off, causing the hot beverage to spill all over her front. Molly whimpered in pain, both from the burning liquid, and the burning words.

OoOo

When Sherlock returned home, he was greeted with a stern doctor.

"I just got off the phone with Lestrade. Says you barreled in demanding a case." John crossed his arms, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, and he _still_ turned me down." Sherlock sneered. He looked back up to see the glare still in place on his friend's face.

"I also talked to Molly." He said in a short tone. The detective rolled his eyes, before John pointed at him with a similar anger to his own.

"No! Sherlock, no. She said you were more than rude today. And you made her spill hot coffee all over herself!"

"She was in the way. It's hardly -" Sherlock began brushing off the accusation, before he found the soldier, not the doctor, in his face.

"No. She has burns all over her, according to Mary. You go back tomorrow and apologize." John was shouting now at almost the top of his lungs. Sherlock frowned, before stepping around the short man and storming to his bedroom.

'He can't expect me to apologize for an accident. It's hardly my fault. Why can't these idiots understand I have more important things to do?' Sherlock thought to himself. With that thought came a dizzying headache. Sherlock let out a long, frustrated sigh, before lying down on his bed. He quickly fell asleep, and did not wake until the following morning.

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Ooh, you's a jerk Sherlock! Lol, ironically enough, this chapter was a lot of fun to write though, because I wrote it while having my own bad day, so it came easily...but Sherlock's still a big jerk in it. Anyway, what do you all think? Let me know, yes?


	4. Pride

Woohoo! So kind of you to review everyone! And follows and favorites too! Oh man, I love readers so much. You guys are honestly what keeps me going throughout these stories. Thank you so much. Anywho, who's ready for more? Yea, me too.

**I own nothing. I'm merely the channel. Blah blah blah.**

**Pride**

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Pride: n. /prīd/ 1. A feeling of pleasure from one's own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is associated.

v. 1. Be especially proud of a particular quality or skill.

OoOo

John trudged down the stairs from his upper floor bedroom, only to discover the rest of the flat in disorder. From first glance, it would appear as though there had been a break-in. However, the clear and shrill screeching of Mrs. Hudson's voice told him that this was entirely Sherlock's doing.

"Those were my sofa cushions, young man. This is coming out of your rent. I've had it. I really have. You absolute delinquent." She yelled from the kitchen. As John rounded the corner, he was met with the evidence of her cause to be upset. The kitchen was covered in strips of leather, and strewn with giant chunks of stuffing.

"What the hell happened in here?" John asked with widened eyes. He immediately looked to Sherlock, who was childishly rolling his eyes as the maternal figure fussed about.

"I was conducting a series of experiments to determine what the most durable material of a sofa was. However, I was interrupted." He shot a glare to Mrs. Hudson, who simply scoffed.

"He's all yours, John Watson. He's gone off the deep end this time, like he's hit his head or something." She waved her hands dismissively, before storming off and out the door. John looked to her retreating form, before snapping his attention back to the petulant man.

"Why?" John asked.

"Why what? You'll have to be more specific." Came the automatic response. He sighed quite loudly, before continuing.

"Why do you have to conduct experiments that ruin poor Mrs. Hudson's flat, or her furniture?" John really had to agree with the older lady, especially the way he'd been acting lately. 'Maybe he _did_ hit his head.' He missed half of Sherlock's ranting before he finally listened in again.

"...and I find it completely senseless if it doesn't mean anything to my work." John's eyebrows took the fast track up his forehead.

"Do you know how full of yourself you sound? The sofa may not pertain to your work, but it _does_ take a position in your life. My God, do you have any idea how arrogant you sound? Have you even gone to apologize to Molly yet?" He yelled, feeling his own anger boil inside him.

"No. why would I waste my time apologizing for something that wasn't my fault?" Sherlock responded with a wave of his hand as he continued working. John had finally had it. He slammed his fist on the table, and sucked down some of the seething frustration that had bubbled over.

"The coffee, maybe not. But you yelled at her, for being herself. She was being herself, and you made her feel bad about that. Again. Ya know, if it weren't for her, you'd probably not have any of that precious 'work' you do. She has everything to do with your work, and you still treat her like she's nothing. I thought you loved her catering to your every bloody whim. Apparently, it's only when you deem her worthy. No wonder the girl has such a low self esteem." John could feel the flare in his nostrils. Sherlock had at least shown the decency to listen. However, he made no remark, and John simply threw his arms up in defeat.

"You know what, Sherlock? Forget I said anything. I'll just go do it for you. No sense in you going. You'll just muck it up and make her feel worse about herself. That poor girl, being so bloody head over heels for such a git like you." John said, turning to leave the flat. He slammed the main door shut behind him, and stomped down the stairs, before slamming the street door shut as well. The consulting detective had brooded for awhile, before deciding to go pay a visit to the small pathologist in question.

OoOo

"Really, Mary, it's only a few blisters." Molly said, trying to calm her furious best friend.

"It could have been prevented were it not for that twat!" Mary exclaimed, quite loudly, just as the offending 'twat' entered the lab. The two women looked over, and flushed red. Molly, from the usual nervous fluster he inflicted on her. Mary, from pure, unrefined anger.

"Ah, Miss Morstan. I trust you're doing well." Sherlock spoke ever-so politely, which only fueled the fire to the short blond woman.

"Don't pander to me, Sherlock Holmes." She responded with a snide voice. Molly touched her on the arm. When Mary turned to look at her, she caught a look of pleading.

"Mary, please." She whispered. The petite woman sighed, before nodding. She gave her friend a hug, and left, all the while glaring down the detective. With the lab left to just the two now, Molly sucked in a nervous breath. She moved to work, only to be stopped by Sherlock's voice.

"I am told I should apologize for yesterday's events." Was his phrasing. Molly looked up at him, and gave a weak, albeit her attempt at brave, smile.

"Oh, it...it's alright. It was an accident. You don't need to apologize." she replied. He nodded his head adamantly, agreeing with her words.

"That's what I said. See, why can't John understand that? So, we're in agreement. Good." He gave a curt nod, before walking over to settle behind his usual microscope.

"Molly, I need to see those samples of algae from the Thames case. Also, coffee. Black, two sugars." He said the command. Molly, who had been working on running a blood sample, looked over to the man with widened eyes. She looked appalled, and therefore couldn't stop her sarcastic though from slipping past her lips.

"Oh, so it seems I'm not _entirely_ pointless to his highness." She muttered with a disdainful tone. Sherlock's head shot up from his work to look at her.

"What?" He asked, almost in a shocked voice. He saw her eyes go wide as she realized she'd spoken the thought aloud, and then watched her recover in a flash.

"Nothing, just a mental note." she said with a smile. "I'll be right back with your coffee." Sherlock was about to confront her on vocalized thought, but Molly was out of the door in an instant. Her words played over and over in his head. 'Not _entirely_ pointless.' It was the way in which she had said it, he knew her heart's true feelings on the matter. She still didn't realize that she counted. He'd made her feel unwanted, unimportant, _pointless_.'

The detective suddenly felt ill. He grabbed his coat and quickly carried himself out of the lab. In a moment of clarity, Sherlock had decided he needed to apologize, for everything. As he neared the cafeteria, he saw the back of her high ponytail. However, all thoughts and clear headed revelation fell away as he watched her laughing in the company of another man. She giggled lightly, and placed her hand on the man's arm. 'She's flirting? Why is she flirting? How dare she flirt.' His mind thought rapidly to itself. His thoughts mixed and mingled as the man was revealed. The pathologist had moved to one side, to give a very clear sight of none other than John Watson. Somewhere in his misfiring brain, something had snapped with the deducing genius. 'She's flirting with my blogger. No. My _blogger_ is flirting with _my_ pathologist.' Sherlock's thoughts felt venomous to him, but he soaked in the toxic ideas just the same.

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Ooh, I bet you can all guess what the next chapter is called, and what it will be about. But I'll give you a hint...who likes the jealous Sherlock? I know I do...he's fun to write. Anyway, thanks for reading, I hope you're still reading. Please still be reading. If you are, let me know. :D


	5. Envy

Teehee, I am loving all these reviews I'm getting on this story. Thank you all so much for making me smile. Alrighty then, who's ready for more!?

**Idontownanythingrelatedtosherlockholmesmollyhooper bbcsirarthurconandoylemarkgatissstevenmoffatorthel ikethatisall.**

**Envy**

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Envy: n. /ˈenvē/ 1. A feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else's possessions, qualities, or luck.

OoOo

He stood there, just watching as two different people from his life interacted. It wasn't just the fact that they were speaking so casually. No, it was the way John raised his eyebrows as he responded to her. 'Overly working to show supreme interest. Boy-like grin, showing sunny and laid-back personality traits. He's putting the moves on her!' Sherlock had long since memorized the distinct ways in which John would engage in conversation with women. The sight before him angered him for two reasons. One, of course, was that John was _supposed_ to be with one Mary Morstan, happily at that. Sherlock didn't mind her presence, she had even proven to be clever and helpful at times. The second, and much more important reason he was so put out, was because Molly Hooper was supposed to be head over heels for _him_. He simply couldn't have her vying for the affections of another man. It would be the change in their professional relationship.

She would move on, and therefore, become more confident in herself. Which, in turn, meant less leniency in the lab, which meant more boredom and taking to ruining Mrs. Hudson's flat. Which led to an angry John, and that would no doubt, get back to Molly. (Should this situation play out.) An uncooperative Molly meant he'd be out of work, completely. She was the only pathologist in three hospitals that would work with him. If he lost her, he'd have no way of taking cases, and would have to rely on...'_No. Oh, no, no, no!'_ Sherlock's mind followed the potential events quickly. The several stems all branched back to one final and driving point.

"I'd have to work for Mycroft."He thought aloud, with a shudder. He looked up again, to discover both Molly and John looking at him with concern.

"Are you okay, mate?" John asked slowly. He shook his head to gather his reserve once more, before a neat little idea came to light. He snatched the cup of coffee from Molly's hand, and chugged it down in one quick, scalding go. He then turned to the woman, and bowed a bit.

"Molly, thanks for the coffee. Come along, John. We've got work to do." Sherlock walked away immediately, leaving his flatmate to scramble for his things to leave.

"Right, well, I'll have Mary tell you when we're both free for that dinner. See ya, Molly." John said with a quick smile. Molly smiled and laughed as the doctor chased after the detective through the cafeteria doors.

OoOo

The cab ride back to Baker Street was tensely silent. John looked to Sherlock, only to catch a sinister glare out the window.

"Are you alright? You've been a bit...odd, lately." The doctor hazarded the use of the word, wondering just _how_ it would sound in reference to the already peculiar Sherlock Holmes.

"Fine." Came the short response. John sighed, before deciding to switch topics.

"Um, listen...Molly's coming round for supper, probably tomorrow..." He was cut off by a scoff.

"Yes, I saw your little chummy exchange. Didn't take you for the cheating type, Dr. Watson. You can't just use your charms on everyone and hog all the attention to yourself." Sherlock bit out, refusing to look at the man beside him. John's mouth fell open in confusion.

"Hang on...what? I'm not cheati...nobody is cheating. Mary knows about it!" He defended his honor, as well as his girlfriend's. He didn't understand why he shouldn't be able to have a nice dinner with his partner and her friend, which happened to be his friend as well.

"Really? Well then, I stand corrected. It seems I've definitely underestimated you lot. Apparently you _can_ hog all the attention and affection of others to yourself." The stoic man's voice was cruel, tearing 'something' apart with its sardonic and icy tone.

"Well, I don't know why you're acting all upset. You're invited too. We figured you'd be jealous to not be the center of attention. Quite obviously so. My God, if you aren't the apple of everyone's eye, you go a bit mad, don't you?" Sherlock's eyes widened. He then went to argue, when they pulled up to 221. The two men left the cab, and walked up the stairs to their flat. Sherlock strode directly to the sofa with the missing cushions. He had toed off his shoes,and taken off his suit jacket in order to feel more comfortable. John had watched him as he made the best use of their collection of pillows, and finally plopped himself down onto it. His concern grew for the usually tireless man.

"Sherlock?"

"Quiet, John. I need to think." Sherlock snapped, his eyes closing almost immediately. The blogger sighed, before walking to his desk, and flipping open his laptop screen. Not even a full ten minutes later, John could just make out the sound of a light snoring. He looked up in surprise, to find his friend peacefully and dozing on the makeshift sofa. 'I wonder if he's come down sick. I've never seen him sleep so much.' He thought to himself. Taking a quiet leave for his bedroom, John missed witnessing the odd and rare sight of Sherlock Holmes...talking in his sleep.

"Mmmmolly...Mmmmine."

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lol...so, there ya go. Another one bites the dust...and he bit it HARD. Lol...see you all next time, my loverlies. Hope you enjoyed this chapter...let me know, yes?


	6. Greed

Wow...Okay, so I wasn't sure how that last chapter would go over, I think I sort of messed up the concept a bit, but nonetheless, you guys all seemed to enjoy it...so that's good. Thank you for not being mean, if you didn't like it. Lol. Anyway, How about the next chapter, yes? The next three all come fairly quickly, and sort of intermingle, because well, it's just easy to do with the last three we have to go through. Lol. Enjoy!

**I am not the owner of anything other than the original idea to write this story. All use of characters is strictly nonprofitable and based solely on the fact that I love them.**

**Greed**

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Greed: n. /grēd/ 1. Intense and selfish desire for something.

OoOo

Sherlock awoke sometime in the middle of the night with a very clever idea. He sprang up from his reclined position, only faltering from dizziness for a moment. Soon, he was brandishing his coat and scarf, walking out the front door, and making his way toward St. Bart's.

He'd decided to walk rather than take a cab. He needed time to think. 'How does one best approach this situation without pushing the already skittish woman away further?' Sherlock considered the options. If he let her join in the date of John and Mary, they would eventually want her to have equal company, so as not to feel 'the third wheel'. This meant Mary would find someone for her friend to date. '_Someone else.' _This would undoubtedly pull her attention and affections away from him.

"Can't have that, now, can we?" He asked himself in disdain. As much as he hated in admitting it, Sherlock knew the answer all too well. '_No, no we can't. She's my pathologist. She's supposed to be mine.'_

OoOo

Molly wasn't entirely sure why she was still at work. She could have gone home to her flat hours earlier, but was content in staying and finishing the mountain of paperwork that had been perched on her desk for a week now. She had checked her watch. '_3:00 am.'_ The tired pathologist stacked another completed file neatly on the other side of her desk. She decided she'd do a few more, right after fetching a much needed cup of coffee. As she strolled through the lab, she was startled to see the familiar silhouette by one of the microscopes.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked after him. She seemed to have scared him out of his thoughts, as he looked up at her with big eyes and a frown of confusion.

"Molly? I...didn't realize you'd still be here." Sherlock remarked. He sounded off, to her at least.

"I probably shouldn't be. But now seemed as good a time as any to take care of some backlogs. Wh...what are you doing here?" She asked a tad nervously. In the years she'd known Sherlock, Molly was always expecting him to turn up at the oddest of hours. However, most of those times were resulted from high amounts of stress during a case, or worse, high amounts of drugs to combat his boredom.

"Needed to think. I can leave though, if it bothers you." He answered stoically.

"Oh no...that's fine. Stay as long as you like. I'm actually just going to get some coffee. Do you want any?" Molly smiled at him kindly, which made the brilliant man almost gleam with happiness. _'She's still my pathologist. She's still mine...I think.'_

"Yes, please." He nodded. Another bright smile, and she turned to leave. Several minutes later, she returned with two cups in her hand.

"Here we are. Black , two sugars." Molly said as she placed his cup next to the microscope. Sherlock pulled away from it to look at her.

"Thank you, Molly." He took a sip of the steaming liquid, and Molly almost chuckled as she saw his eyes close in admiration of the flavor.

"You always get it right." He muttered. Molly turned from her position as she was walking back to her office.

"What?"

"The coffee. You always manage to get it right. John can never remember what I consider 'two sugars' to be. Loads it up too much. But not you. Why is that?" She gaped at him a bit, her cheeks turning rosier by the second. Molly bit her lower lip a bit, and looked away. When she looked back up, the detective was now placing his cup on the work station table, and walking toward her. The signature calculative look gleamed brilliantly in his eyes. She shifted nervously back and forth at his approach.

"Why, Molly? Why remember something so trivial?" She looked up again, debating on which of the many reasons to give him. She finally settled on a culmination of them all.

"Well, it's important to you, so I try to keep it the same every time. I know I don't do a lot of other things right, so if I can keep your mind focused and help you by getting at least your coffee right so you can concentrate, then I know I'm still useful for something." Molly smiled at him. Sherlock, in all his cleverness, could never have anticipated her answer. It was all for him. '_She's still mine.'_ Sherlock looked up, wanting to tell her she was good at so much more than preparing coffee, but she had already retreated to her office. He sighed out a long breath. '_She doesn't know that she's mine. She doesn't think that she's mine.'_

It had been another hour before Molly emerged, coat on and ready to leave. Sherlock was still looking through the lens of the scope.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." She said quietly.

"Goodnight." Came the focused reply. She smiled to herself, before leaving him to his work. Meanwhile, Sherlock's mind was working out a problem. '_If she thinks she's only good for coffee, then I'll just have to show her how important that is.'_ Sherlock sighed in frustration, his head not feeling remotely good in the process. He had stayed in his spot for the remainder of the night, and by early morning, the consulting detective was asleep.

OoOo

Molly had only returned home for a few hours, rest and a quick shower, before she had been called back in. She sighed and agreed to come in for the emergency autopsy. As she strolled into the lab to head to her hidden office, she stopped. There, right where she'd left him, was Sherlock. He was leaning on the metal table, a soft snore emitting from deep within his throat. Molly giggled quietly as she watched him sleep. His breathing was deep, heavy with relaxation. Molly softly went out again, and several minutes later, she returned with a cup of coffee in hand. She placed it in the incubating microwave, and scribbled out a note to tell him of its existence.

She shut one of the lights to the lab off on her way out, leaving the resting man comfortably unaware, and quite literally, in the dark.

OoOo

When he awoke, he was greeted with ambient silence, and only half of the lighting he had remembered being there. Sitting up to stretch his stiff muscles, the detective noticed a small piece of paper next to a slide. He picked it up and read it with a small smile.

_Sherlock,_

_Didn't want to wake you. There's coffee in the micro for you. Just press the start button to reheat it._

_-Molly xx_

He stood and walked to the side of the lab containing the medical sized box, and pressed the start button. When it had finished warming the cuppa, Sherlock lifted it up directly to his lips. As the liquid slipped past his lips and onto his tongue, he became astonished, no, dumbfounded. '_How does she manage to get the temperature perfect as well?'_ He wondered as he took another sip. Within less than five minutes, he had finished the entire cup. It was delicious. Absolutely delicious. For some reason, one that escaped him entirely, he craved more. '_Now.'_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Well, hm, this is all escalating so quickly. Lol..I know that was a bit different than what you were probably expecting for the greed section, but I promise it was well thought out, especially once the whole thing plays out. I hope you liked this. :D Leave me a review to let me know, please?


	7. Gluttony

Welp, here's me, just saying how much I love that you're all loving this story. Honestly, I wasn't sure with the last chapter, how it would go over or something, but you all seemed to enjoy it...so that is good. :D

**Once again, if you'll all turn your attention to the sign on the wall that says 'I DON'T OWN THIS'. Thank you.**

**Gluttony**

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Gluttony: /glʌtənɪ/ n. 1. The act or practice of eating to excess.

OoOo

Molly had just finished scrubbing her hands, after spending nearly an hour dissecting Mr. Williams' body for his postmortem. The family had suspected foul play, and demanded an immediate autopsy be performed. However, Molly had barely needed to crack the man open to determine the actual cause of his demise. The large belly was her first clue. And when she finally broke open his ribcage to get to his organs, she was certain. 'Yup. _Massive heart attack. One too many steaks for you, eh Mr. Williams?'_ Her mind joked. Molly had a slight chuckle at her own humor, when she was scared out of her wits.

"Only you would laugh during a man's postmortem, Molly." The low and distinct baritone cut through the chilled morgue air. She shook her head and laughed a bit as she turned around.

"I'm not the only one. You do it, too." She stated a bit proudly. Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, before clamming back up. She was right.

"Anyway," She spoke again, "I made you coffee, did you see my note?" She asked. Her voice was timid, almost shy, but kind all the same. Sherlock nodded his head.

"Yes, I did. Thank you. I was actually wanting another cup." He stated, holding out the empty Styrofoam for her to see. His internal John scolded him for his choice of words, so he added, "If it's not too much trouble." Molly smiled and shook her head.

"Oh no, not too much trouble at all. I'll go get some for you." She nodded, before leaving to fix his next cup for him. As she left, she missed the almost excited look his features held.

OoOo

John had finally tracked his best friend down, and discovered that he had been in the company of the meek pathologist of St. Bart's all day.

"Hey, I hope he's not been too rude. Are we still on for supper? I can...ya know, uninvite him, if it's easier on you." John had managed to pull her aside and out of earshot of the clever man.

"Oh no! He's fine. If anything, I think we need to keep him around tonight. He's been nice, surprisingly pleasant, even. Keeps asking me to make him coffee, instead of demanding it." Molly said with a hushed excitement, as she looked over at a focused Sherlock. John looked over as well, expecting a devious look to be in place on his friend's face. What he found instead, was almost more frightening. The man held a calm, almost serene, smile in place, as he sipped from a medium sized foam cup. John watched as his friend finished the drink, and set the empty cup on the counter top next to him. Without looking up, he spoke.

"Molly, could you make me some more coffee?" His voice sounded...sweet? Nice? And John could tell, it wasn't falsely kind either.

"Are...are you sure? That is your tenth cup, not including this morning's." Molly asked, a bit worried for the unusually peppy detective. John's eyebrows rose high on his forehead, looking from Molly to Sherlock. His mouth copied the number quietly, as his mind tried to fathom that amount of caffeine. He decided to step in and intervened.

"Actually, Sherlock, we need to go. I need your help cleaning the kitchen." He stated. At the detective's look of objection, John continued.

"It's either you help, or all your experiments go in the bin." John was secretly pleased at the wide and threatened glare he'd received from the tall and pale man.

"But I want more coffee." He protested quietly.

"Well, I'll make some more when we get home."

"No, I don't want _your_ coffee, John. Only Molly's will do." Sherlock said with a grin, one that lit a fiery blush to the timid woman's cheeks as she looked away to hide her smile. John just rolled his eyes, and shoved his friend toward the door.

"Bye Molly. Thank you for the coffee." Came the bellowing voice, already halfway out the door. Molly giggled and waved to John as he followed suit.

"See you tonight." He said happily, exiting through the door of the lab.

OoOo

Molly had knocked on the door only once, before she was practically hauled inside by her friend, Mary Morstan.

"Oh, you're here! I'm so happy!" Mary exclaimed. Molly laughed as her already-tipsy friend hugged her closely. Molly saw the men move in from the kitchen.

"Ah, good. You're here. We can eat." Sherlock said in a pleasant tone. Everyone's eyes were wide at him.

"Oh, you know what I mean." He said in a sarcastic tone.

"They had chatted throughout supper, the flat filling with laughter from the girls as they regaled John and Sherlock with stories of their uni days. Sherlock idly nibbled on the food they'd prepared, but was more than happy to finish his wine quickly, readying the glass for more. No one had noticed as he poured himself another generous glass of wine. He sat back, content in observing the social scene and conversation between the other three.

However, by the time he had finished his sixth glass, Sherlock's attention had zeroed in Molly alone. It was when they had all gone to say goodnight, hours later, that anyone noticed the oddly relaxed and silent detective.

"Sherlock? How much wine did you have?" John asked. Sherlock looked at him with blurry and hazed vision.

"Um...si-ven. Sev'n." Was what had slurred from his lips. Mary bit back a giggle, while John sighed out in defeat. He turned to his girlfriend, and took her hand in his.

"Listen, Mary. I know we are going to, you know...tonight. But I can't leave him like this. He's been acting so strange lately, and I'm not sure what's wrong with him, but...leaving him in _this_ state...no." John explained with a solemn expression.

"I can look after him." Molly offered up sweetly. John had a skeptical brow, but Molly simply chose to persist.

"Please, this is a very special night for you both. No sense in wasting all that planning, right?" Mary's smile beamed at John, who took several minutes before finally nodding in agreement.

"But if you need help, _at all_, please call." He added. Molly pushed them both for the door.

"Yes, alright. Now get out of here." She said with a laugh. Mary had quickly left through the main door of 221. Molly turned to see Sherlock staggering into the room.

"Alright, let's get you into bed, Mister 'Doesn't know when to quit'." She said as she walked over and lightly helped him keep his balance. They made their way back to his bedroom, where Molly turned on the light as she kept a hand on his arm. She carefully helped him out of his suit jacket, and turned him around to have him sit on the bed. She was not expecting him to be responsive at all. She certainly was not expecting him to suddenly lean down and sloppily catch her lips with his own. Molly squeaked out of surprise by his actions, while a drowsy Sherlock let out a moan of pure pleasure. After some effort, she pushed him away, causing him to fall back onto the bed in a dull thud. She bend down, untying his shoes and carefully removing them. His heavy legs were a bit tricky, as she hoisted them onto the mattress. She could hear him quietly mumbling something.

"What's that, Sherlock?" Molly asked.

"You...you're pret...beau-fl, really...don't know it, but y' are." His words were hopelessly slurred together, almost incoherently leaving his lips. However, Molly caught the gist of his statement, and blushed immediately.

"Just get some rest." She said as she made her way to leave. Suddenly, a hand snatched her wrist and pulled her. She fell onto his chest, and blushed as she looked up at his half closed eyes.

"Can you pet me?" He asked innocently. Molly's eyes went wide, as she looked side to side, seeking an answer from the room itself. It wasn't a moment later, when the drunk genius had her hand in his grasp, and began making it roughly 'pet' his head, running over the top of his curls. Molly caught on, and made him loosen his grip on her.

"Oh, o-okay, Sherlock." Molly stood up, and moved over to the other side of his large bed. She sat on the edge and toed her shoes off, before flipping her legs up onto the mattress beside his. Sherlock was immediately curling into her, his arms wrapping tightly around her middle. Just like a cat, he nudged his head against her hand, wordlessly begging for attention. Molly wove her fingers through his hair, her fingernails raking along his scalp lightly. He hummed out a low growl of approval, and relaxed further. As she ran her hands deeper into his curls, she hit a bump. Quite literally, a very hard, and large goose egg of a bump, somewhere on the back of the detective's head. He hissed in pain.

"Headache, Molly." Came the slurred snarl.

"I'm sorry." she said with a quiet tone. After a moment, she decided to ask.

"Did you hit your head or something?" She was answered with a dull snore, and a soft, albeit seductive, moan. Molly felt the blush creep onto her skin, as she had never heard any man make such a sound, much less _this_ man. Soon, he was fast asleep, Molly not far behind in her own tracks of slumber.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Well then, Let me explain. Lol. I wanted to write this chapter to be true with the definition of the word, but this is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about. He hardly eats, so it wouldn't make much sense to have him devour a dinner...but, the man DOES like his coffee...and well, everyone likes wine, right? Teehee. Anyway, SEE YOU NEXT CHAPTER! One sin left to go...;)


	8. Lust

Well, here we are everyone, the final chapter. I just wanted to say THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for your reviews and feedback and support on this story. I'm glad it's gone over so well, YAY! Anyway,

**I don't own much, and by 'much', I mean anything...I don't own anything. **

**Lust**

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Lust: n. /ləst/ 1. Very strong sexual desire.

v. Have a very strong sexual desire for someone.

OoOo

He awoke to the muffled sound of thunder outside his window. A very aching Sherlock Holmes glanced over through the dimply lit room, to see the rain pounding against the glass. He looked around a bit. _'How did I get in here?'_ he wondered to himself. A glance at his wristwatch told him it was around 7:00 am, though the blurred vision didn't give him precise details. As he moved to roll over, however, the detective discovered he had a different issue to be aware of now, one that also affected his vision, so to speak. The 'issue' only made itself more evident as he rolled to one side and saw her lying there. They were both fully clothed, (much to his dismay) and he could make out the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept.

Sherlock had leaned on an elbow, and took to gazing at her. She had shed her cardigan sometime in the night, and was now revealing _much_ more skin in her tank top. He looked at her pale shoulders, and followed the curve of them over her collarbones. His eyes gazed down to the creamy skin on her chest, just above the swooped neckline of her top. As she breathed, her petite breasts moved, creating a tantalizing show for his viewing pleasure. '_Good God, man, pull yourself together.'_ Molly stirred in her sleep, and let out a soft sigh as she rolled over onto her side. The sigh sent a jolt directly down his spine, and localized to the growing problem. He withheld a groan of need as he went back to watching her.

A slip of her hand from its place under her head caused her arm to limply fall away. Molly's fingers lazily dragged over the side of his thigh, and Sherlock gasped in wanton frustration for more. The audible noise woke her, and she sprang up in the bed. Her hair was tangled a bit, and her sleepy eyes finally focused on him.

"Sherlock, is everything alright?" she asked, reaching out to him. A nervous Sherlock scooted away from her quickly. A bit too quickly, as he fell off the side of the bed and onto the floor. He let out a groan of pain. Molly gasped as she moved to help him up.

"Oh my gosh! Are you..." she asked after him, her hands inching closer to help him sit up. Sherlock moved away again, and this time stood quickly.

"Don't touch me. I'm fine." He snapped out. Molly went rigid with the harsh tone of his voice, and nodded her head.

"Oh..oh..okay. I'm sorry." She murmured quietly. Sherlock instantly felt bad, and felt another pebble drop onto the collecting weight in his lower stomach. He bit back a groan of need, and quickly turned to exit the room.

"I'm just going to go and shower." He said, leaving through the door and closing it behind him. Molly sighed out, her hand wiping over her face a bit.

OoOo

The cold water hadn't seemed to help him any as the desperate detective would have liked. '_What is that matter with me?'_ He pondered as he scrubbed the night out of his hair. The dull and throbbing ache between his legs hadn't let up any, and it became quite obvious what he was going to have to do. '_How utterly predictable.' _He scolded his body as he reached down, already feeling a sense of relief with the first touch. A low growl left his lips as he tugged, his breathing becoming more labored in the warm shower. The detective had always hated this, and rarely ever found it necessary, so he wasn't entirely shocked as his body fueled an unnecessary desire to be touched, after having consumed so much alcohol. What did shock him, surprising him entirely, was the fact that, as he touched himself underneath the shower stream, images of Molly flashed to mind. Not images he had seen either, but rather _unsavory_ in nature. '_Her nails digging into my skin. Those small, yet ample breasts, her sighs of ecstasy. Oh God, Molly.'_ In a final move of pure bliss, he released his pent up frustration. A heavy breath later, and he began to clean himself up.

As he left the shower, he had expected the rest of the day to be perfectly alright. After all, he hardly _ever_ felt this way, and one moment of indulgence was more than enough for another decade.

OoOo

However, this thought couldn't be further from the truth. As Sherlock made his way to the bedroom, he passed by a quiet Molly. She looked up to him, giving him a small smile. Sherlock felt an instant jolt.

"Um, do you mind if I borrow your shower?" She asked in her meek voice. Another jolt shot to his stomach, stronger and harder than the morning's collected want. He felt his breath hitch immediately, and he tried to answer back in a husky tone.

"That...that's fine." He gruffed out, before walking briskly back to his bedroom. Molly watched him go, her confused expression deepening.

OoOo

The shower felt absolutely wonderful, and Molly felt more refreshed than she had in what felt like ages. Not for lack of bathing, but the water pressure of 221B was significantly higher than the dull strum of her own shower at home. The water pelted her skin hard, slowly beating out the pains and aches in her muscles. Molly let out a soft sigh and a moan of relaxed state, unknowingly driving a nearby eavesdropping detective insane.

'_My God, it's like she's trying to kill me. Alright, just stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about her.'_ Sherlock was pacing the living room floor frantically, as he attempted not to steer his mind back to the fact that there was a naked '_beautifully naked' _woman in his shower. Another sigh resounded in the echoing shower, which bounced off the walls and slipped under the crack of the shut door. It floated into the air, and whizzed into Sherlock's ears. Another sharp stab of unfulfilled desire dropped onto his accumulating need for her, and the genius felt his resolve slipping again. He wanted to fix this issue, however, the sound of the water stopping left that desire incomplete as well.

OoOo

Molly exited the bathroom, her damp hair hanging loosely over her shoulder. As she made her way to the living room, she discovered it was empty. '_He must still be in his room. I'd better make sure he's okay.'_ She told herself. She made her way down the long hall, and knocked on his bedroom door.

"Sherlock?" She asked.

"Go away." Came the stoic, yet cranky response. Molly grinned a bit, wondering if he was supremely hung over. She cracked the door open a little bit, her head poking through. She saw him standing by the window, watching the rain roll off the glass. As she went to him, she saw him visibly go rigid, and she knew something was wrong.

"Are you sure you're alright, Sherlock?" She asked.

"I said go away, Molly." He answered, not looking at her. Molly huffed out a frustrated sigh, her hand moving to the front of his chest to turn him to face her. His eyes widened, and he looked at her, almost in fear. The simple graze sent a shock wave barreling through him, and Sherlock, for all of his usual control and discipline, simply couldn't hold back any longer. His need far outmatched his logical head this time, and he moved so quickly. In a swift move, he pulled her to him, his lips crashing down and attaching themselves to hers. He felt Molly gasp against his mouth, and a small groan of surprise.

"Sher...mmm...what are y...ou...oh! What are you do..ing?" She managed between his fierce assault on her lips. She had moved against him, trying to move away, to get a bit of clarity between them and what was happening. However, a well placed shifting of her hips, and she instantly felt and _knew_ what had caused his sudden outburst of affection.

"Sherlock, are you..."

"Turned on, enamored...aroused? Mmm, yes Molly, I believe I am. Now, if you would kindly stop talking so I can _act_ on these sudden urges, that would be...mmmmost helpful." Sherlock managed to speak almost as quickly as when he wasn't distracted. He moved them back into the room, and onto the bed, kissing her manically the entire time. The better part of Molly's judgment told her to stop him. '_There's something off about him, this...isn't like him..oh._' The rest of her, the part that belonged to him already, was convinced she couldn't stop him now anyway, even if she wanted to, which she didn't. It's moments later, when she is topless beneath him. She doesn't remember his strong muscles flexing as he ripped the cotton fabric from around her smooth skin. She's barely noticed that she's down to her knickers, while he's completely naked on top of her. What she _does_ focus on is the way his large hands grope her small breasts, roughly squeezing them, yet she can only moan out in delight. What she _does_ manage to register is that she can feel the wetness building up between her legs as he kisses all over her stomach.

"Oh, Sherlock." She moaned into the air. Another crash of thunder went ignored, as Sherlock removed the thin bit of material that separated him from his destination. Molly panted as she felt his tongue sweep over her teasingly. She felt him growl against her, the vibration causing her to grind against him.

"You...divine creature." Sherlock said in an airy breath. A few swiped of his tongue again, and Molly practically leaped off the mattress. He moved up her body again, no longer able to resist or stall himself.

"I need you, Molly. I need to possess you. Now." His dark voice huskily swam through her ears. She couldn't resist him even if she'd tried. She nodded to him, and he wasted no time in entering her. They both groaned out in ecstatic relief as he slowly, and altogether too quickly, filled her.

"Molly, I don't know what's...I...oh God, I..." The man struggled with keeping his pace and finishing his thought. Molly, bless her, was blissfully unaware of his less than eloquent moment. '_I don't know what's come over me, but I don't want it to end. You're gorgeous and I need you always.'_

"Sherlock, keep going, please!" Her voice had moved up in pitch, her whimpers of desire high in their refrain. Sherlock, ever the musician, had a final passing thought. '_I want to make her sing like this over and over again.'_ He shut out his mind completely then, as he sped up. Soon, too soon for either of them, the tether snapped, and they flew away from reality as they came together. She whispered and sighed his name, he breathed hers. The exhausted pair lay on his bed, curled together under the sheets. Molly looked out the window at the storm, and then up to his face.

"And how are you feeling now?" She asked with a smile. He looked down to her, grinning mischievously.

"I feel much better. Quite tired, for _some_ odd reason. And my head hurts a bit." he said, his witty response turning into genuine confusion.

"Ah, about that, did you hit your head on something? You've got a knot, right here." Molly reached up and gently prodded his head where the bump was. Sherlock winced at the tender spot. He felt it for himself, and it all clicked.

"The poster, of course." He looked over, remembering the picture still seated by the wall. Molly looked over, and back up to him.

"So you _did_ hit your head. Sherlock, you probably have had a concussion. Were you aware that you'd been acting odd this whole week? I mean...odder than usual, that is." She asked, propping herself up on his chest a bit.

"I honestly hadn't noticed, apart from wanting to sleep much more than I usually do...and then today, of course." He grinned, until he felt her body stiffen underneath his. He tilted her chin up to face him, and leaned over to kiss her.

"Do not mistaken that for regret, Molly Hooper. I am _very_ glad to have had this time with you. It's something, _I think_, I would like to experience again." He said with a chuckle. Molly joined him in laughter, being relieved at that fact herself. He leaned in and kissed her once more, quite passionately this time. When they pulled away for air, Molly smiled.

"I thought you said your head hurt." She accused with a smirk.

"Yes, well, I think if I take something for it, it'll help. What's your opinion, doctor?" Sherlock replied with a grin, before kissing further down her body. He slipped from under her, and rolled over so that he was now kissing down the front of her skin. As he slipped further down her, Molly watched his head disappear underneath the sheets. She gasped at the sensations of his touch over her flesh, the stimulation only enhanced by the fact that she couldn't see him at all. As he settled to his desired spot, Molly moaned out loud, her head dropping back onto the pillows.

"Oh, Sherlock. You're positively sinful."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The End.

So, that would conclude this lovely little story. :D I hope you all enjoyed it, as I had SO MUCH FUN writing it. This idea, I must say, was seriously one of the better ones I think I've had. So, I'm super glad that you all did enjoy it, and thank you so much for letting me know that you liked it. I would be nowhere without my lovely readers, BIG HUGS FOR ALL OF YOU! :D


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